


When The Day Met the Night

by Johnlock1996



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Big Brother Mycroft, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Abuse, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicide Attempts, Teenlock, Thoughts of Suicide, highschool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 07:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14732247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock1996/pseuds/Johnlock1996
Summary: A high-school JohnlockAU. Sherlock Holmes is the Freak of the school. Skipping a grade year, he is the brightest, but youngest student in his class. Due to his past, Sherlock believes he is broken and unlovable. Enter one rugby captain John Watson to flip his world upside down.





	1. First Day of School

**Author's Note:**

> Re uploaded work! Updates will come slow.

"Do I really have to go to school, My? You have connections, I know you do, couldn't you find me a private professor to teach me at home?" Sherlock asked his brother while glaring out of the tinted window of his brother's black sedan.  
Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed. He'd been over this nearly a thousand times with his little brother.  
"Sherlock it's highschool , not jail. It will not kill you to go. There are no more Private Professors. Every Professor sent to the house, you've managed to run off, and the others are afraid to try. Now please, Sherlock, go to school."  
"My..."  
"Please Sherlock."  
Sherlock turned and looked at his brother. Auburn hair combed to one side, three piece suit pressed, new pair of black Cole Haans polished to perfection, hands clasped in his lap, exasperated expression on his round face, eyes glancing at his watch every view moments. Sherlock-despite his best efforts- deduced the signs in a matter of seconds. He had made his brother late yet again to another important meeting.  
" m'sorry..."  
"Whatever for, brother dear?"  
Mycroft said sounding worried. He had tried his hardest to keep the irritation out of his features. The next thing he needed was Sherlock blaming himself. He turned his mind away from that train of thought, not wanting to relive the moment he found Sherlock curled up in the bathtub, wrist a mangled mess, all because he had told the younger boy he had made him late to a meeting that could potentially lead to him loosing his job. No. Not that again.  
"Making you late again. Your jo-"  
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! I will not have you blaming yourself for this. I would not be here with you if I did not choose it."  
Sherlock glanced a look at his brother, having looked down after seeing the irritation written in his brothers bulkier build. His brother smiled-a rare thing for the both of them now a days- and asked again in a softer tone,  
"Please, Sherlock. Go to school. Think of it as an experiment." Sherlock perked up at the word experiment, and slowly nodded his consent before opening up the door and stepping outside. Mycroft looked at his brother with a serious expression.  
"My cell is always on me. Call me of you need anything. And I mean anything Sherlock. If you need me to come and pick you up, if this ends up being too much for you to handle, do not hesitate. I will leave and come and get you. Do you understand me, Sherlock?"  
"Yes, My. I understand." Sherlock said quietly, staring at his brother with an anxious expression.  
"I'll be back to pick you up when classes are over, but I'm afraid this is where we must part ways brother dear." Sherlock only nodded, and shut the passenger side door. He breathed in a lungful of the cool Autumn air as he watched his brother drive off. He let it out shakily and adjusted his blue scarf, before he turned and faced the school in front of him. Slowly, Sherlock pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and stared at it before starting to walk to his first class of the day. Fourth Year English with Mr.O'Brian.  
\--------------------------------------  
John H. Watson has the high school career that every boy dreams of. All of his teachers love him, and being the captain of the school's rugby team gained him mass popularity. All the girls in the school want to shag him; all the boys want to be him. As if that isn't enough, John is friendly to everyone he meets (as long as he is treated with respect, that is). All in all, he's the modern day highschool jock they have so often depicted in movies.  
"Hey, Watson! I haven't seen you since last semester! How was your break?" a voice behind John shouts over the crowd filled with students talking about what they did over summer. John turns and comes face to face with the source of the voice.  
"Hey, Mike! My break was uneventful, as usual. My parents left Harry and I on our own all summer. Which means I was stuck in my room while she and Clara snogged on the sofa. Aside from rugby practice, all I did was binge watch the James Bond movies and surf the web. You?" John listens to Mike, as he talks about how he and his dad had traveled over the summer and how his mother had applied him to a jumpstart medical program. Mike's detailed description of his summer was soon cut short by the sound of the school bell telling everybody to go to class. John gathers up his bag, says his goodbyes to Mike, and heads towards his first class. Mr. O'Brian's English 4.


	2. Introductions and Deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to class and begins to deduce his classmates and teacher, until John Watson walks in. After arriving late, John is placed in the back of the room next to Sherlock and gets greeted in the most unusual way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my hand at deducting in this chapter and hope I did it justice! Please let me know what you think!!

Sherlock enters the classroom and sits down quickly in the back. Quietly, he scans the space around him. He got to the room before any of his classmates, and has plenty of time to analyze his surroundings before being overloaded with information. The room is of average size, sitting twenty-five students comfortably. The teacher's desk is at the front of the class; a closed lap top is in the middle with a textbook and the teacher's personal items on either side. Behind the desk is a large whiteboard. Near the door is an arrangement of bookcases arranged according to year. He chooses a seat near the large windows that span the length of the remaining wall. Directly in the back of the room, it's better for him to be out of sight: he'd rather not be noticed. He's used to it, having learned long ago it was better to stay hidden and quiet. It was safer. Sherlock clutches the notebook in his hands and breathes deeply.  
'No. Stop. Delete, delete, DELETE. Don't think about him here. You can't, you have to try and make this work. You can pretended to be normal.' Without noticing it, Sherlock found himself rubbing the scars on his left wrist with his dominant thumb. He has scars up and down both arms, but the ones on his left arm are deeper due to....  
Sherlock is slammed out of his thoughts by the sound of people entering the room. He watches them, deducing them slowly one by one. A tall brunet girl walks in followed by the loud pop of her chewing gum-cheerleader, cheating on her boyfriend with a university guy. The story is made clear to him by her anklet: it's gold, thin, and has a charm of an eagle-the local University's mascot. Father's a banker while the Mother works with the PTA giving her some control over the school; only child. The cheating brunet is followed by a set of twin boys with short brown hair and Heterochromia. That was interesting. Each sibling has one brown eye and one green eye, and if they were to face each other directly, each color would meet its mirror. After deducing their eyes, he spent little time on them, not wanting to deduce their sex life-obviously twincest by the way they look at each other: the taller of the two obviously being the dominant by the way he-nope, moving on.  
He stops deducing his classmates, and moves on to the teacher as he enters the room. Sherlock has an entire semester to deduce those around him, but needs to deduce each of his teachers thoroughly on the first day to determine how the semester would go. Mr.O'Brian is a stocky man, with straight dark brown hair. He seems to be in his mid thirties, about 5'5, and happily married to his husband of five years. (The photo nearest to the laptop shows the couple together.) He has a kind face and trusting sea green eyes which seemed to be dancing as he looked about the classroom as more students pour in. Dog owner, due to the hairs stuck on his trousers. Sherlock notices he is a thumb biter by the way the skin near his cuticles are frayed.  
'Nervous habit. Always the hardest to break..' Sherlock thought, while looking down and opening his notebook. Mr. O'Brian begins introducing himself as the class starts. Sherlock only half listens, spending the time doodling on the back cover of his notebook. He only looks back up when the classroom door opens, and a boy about eighteen years old rushes into the room. The boy is short, being only an inch taller than the teacher, with broad shoulders. He has sandy blond hair that brushes the nape of his neck, with eyes the color of the ocean.  
"Sorry I'm late, I couldn't find the class."  
"It's not a problem; just be sure to not make a habit of being late," Mr. O'Brain says with a smile. "I was about to take roll, and since you happen to be right here I might as well start with you. What's your name?"  
The boy smiles, and Sherlock felt his insides flutter. "I won't, sir. I know where the class is now." He says chucking. The butterflies- as Mycroft had once told him the fluttery sensation was called- start up again at that laugh.  
"The names Watson, sir. John Watson."  
\-----------------------------  
He's late. He knows he is. It's the reason he is sprinting down the hall.  
'Shit, shit, shit! This is not how I want to start my last year!' John thinks while running down the hall. The right hall this time. He double checked not wanting to walk into the wrong classroom again. Cosmetology with the cheerleaders is NOT were he wants to be. He gets to the classroom and notices the teacher had already begun to introduce him self and what the course would be about. He opens the door and steps in.  
"Sorry I'm late, I couldn't find the class."  
"It's not a problem; just be sure to not make a habit of being late," the teacher, Mr. O'Brain says with a smile. "I was about to take roll, and since you happen to be right here, I may as well start with you. What's your name?" The teacher asks.  
John smiles. 'At least the teacher is nice,' John thinks.  
"I won't, sir. I know where the class is now." He says with a chuckle.  
"The name's Watson, sir. John Watson."  
'Yeah, I've watched waaaayyy to many Bond movies.'  
"And I've finally met the famous rugby captain! It's nice to meet you, John. I'm afraid you missed my lecture about class procedures, but you won't be tested on it so I wouldn't worry." Mr.O'Brian says with a wink. "I think there's an empty seat in the back, Mr.Watson."  
John turns to find the seat O'Brian is mentioning, and spots the chair. He makes his way to it while looking around to see who is in the class. There is Jessica, the cheerleader who is dating Jake Wyldeer: number 15 on the rugby team. The Twins-as everybody calls them -Marc and Chase; along with about three other faces John recognizes. He gets to his seat in the back, and looks around to see he was sitting by. For thrifty seconds John forgets how to breathe. Siting directly beside him is the most beautiful boy John had ever seen. He is skinny, with marble like skin and dark black curls that frame his face. He is slouched in the chair as if hiding with his long legs stretched out in front of him.  
"Don't bother introducing yourself. You already gave me your name when the teacher called you for roll." the boy says, his voice a low baritone whisper.  
"I'm sorry; how'd you know I was-"  
"Going to introduce your self? You're not exactly sly. You've been looking at me since you sat down."  
'Damn. Thought, I was being careful.' "Sorry about that."  
"It's not a problem," the boy says while turning to face him as much as he could while still being discreet. John's breath once again decides to stop. The boy has jutting cheek bones that sit high on his face, and the eyes that look back at him are beautiful. John tries placing a color to them, but soon gives up. They seem to flint from grey, to blue, to gold.  
"Sectoral heterochromia."  
"Um, what?" John asks confused.  
"You were wondering about my eyes: what color they are. I don't have a specific color. It's rare, and I have a specific type. The twins up in the front have it as well, only not sectoral," the boy replies while leaning back.  
"How are you able to do that?"  
"Do what?"  
"Read my mind like that. You've done it twice now."  
"I don't read minds. It's not possible. I merely deduce."  
John is intrigued. This boy with the beautiful features has captured his attention and he needs to know more.  
"What's your name?"  
The boy looks startled by the question.  
"Sherlock Holmes, not that it's of any importance." Sherlock replies. John can't be sure, but he thinks he sees a hint of sadness in his eyes.  
"Well then, Sherlock, deduce me."  
"You... You want me to...?" Sherlock stutters clearly confused. His eyes narrow warily. "Why?"  
"Yes. You wouldn't let me introduce myself to you properly, and apparently I won't tell you anything you don't know, so..." John waved a hand at himself in a 'have at it manner,' and waits.  
Sherlock is startled for a moment before spitting facts out like bullets.  
"You're the youngest of two siblings. You're worried about your older brother who is going back to Uni after dropping out. Your parents are happily married, but travel a lot leaving you to man the house seeing as your alcoholic of an older brother won't. You worry for your brother, not only because of his alcohol abuse, but for the mentally abusive relationship he's in," Sherlock states while his eyes roam up and down John's frame.  
"As previously stated, you're the captain of the school's rugby team. Given that, and the way you care for your older brother while your parents travel, you're a natural-born leader and caretaker. You're interested in becoming a doctor once school is done but don't have the money to pay for it. You're hoping that you can get a sports scholarship to the local university here in town, which will allow you to stay at home and save on rent." Sherlock finishes, and looks at John as if waiting for something.  
"That was...wow. Amazing!" John says, his words not even close to stating how he truly feels.  
"Really? That's not what people usually say. Or how they react." the last part is mumbled, as if he had spoke a thought out-loud.  
"How do people normally react?" John asks.  
"Fuck off," Sherlock replies simply.  
John smiles and starts to laugh. He has a suspicion the boy's not telling him all of it, but doesn't push the subject. Sherlock smiles and John's heart skips a beat.  
"Why are you-"  
"Holmes! Watson! Pay attention!" Mr.O'Brian yells from the front of the class.  
John turns to face the board after winking at Sherlock with a whispered, "Tell you after class."


	3. Spilled Books and Lined Wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After class John discovers that he and Sherlock are locker buddies. He also discovers more about Sherlock.

Sherlock leans against his locker and sighs. The day is finally over and he can leave. He made it through the day without getting overwhelmed by data. He prides himself on the fact that despite how many times he was shoved into lockers he didn't break down.  
'Wonder when Mycroft will get here to pick me up...' Sherlock thinks while pulling his phone out to check his messages.  
'Traffic in London is horrid. Hope to be there as soon as possible, brother dear.'  
'That answers that question. I wonder if he will let me order dinner tonight. Chinese food sounds nice...'  
Sherlock is so caught up in his own thoughts, he doesn't notice the presence next to him until it's too late.  
"Hey! Would you look at that? We're locker buddies!"  
John's voice is so unexpected Sherlock jumps slightly and his books tumble out of his hands and onto the floor.  
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya. I'll warn you next time," John says as he bends down to collect Sherlock's books.  
"It's...fine. I was caught up in my thoughts. Happens a lot." Sherlock stops talking and takes his books from John. "You didn't need to do that. Thank you," He says looking down.  
"It was my fault you dropped them. I should be in charge of picking them up," John says with a smile.  
Sherlock feels his stomach flop at that smile and turns to his locker trying to hide his blush.  
"By the way, what you did in class today was utterly fantastic! You never gave me the chance to tell you that. You left right when the bell rang."  
"Did I miss anything?"  
"What?"  
"About you, did I miss anything?"  
"Oh. Umm...I am the youngest of two siblings. I do have an older sibling who attends Uni: Harry. My parents are happily married, and do travel a lot. Harry is a recovering alcoholic in an on again off again relationship with girlfriend Clara. I am interested in becoming a doctor once school is done and am hoping to get a rugby scholarship."  
"Ah, so I got everything right."  
"Harry is short for Harriet." John says calmly shutting his locker.  
"Your sister! God I always miss something!" Sherlock says slamming his locker shut.  
"You do that often then? Deduce peoples lives like that?" John asks while laughing.  
"My brother and I make a game of it," Sherlock says cooly.  
John smiles again and leans against his locker. Sherlock looks at him. Up close John is really quiet handsome.  
Sherlock is brought out of his admiring by a shrill voice.  
"Hey, Freak! Heard you came back this year, didn't think it was true though," Troy Glosner says walking up to where he and John are standing.  
"Leave him alone, Troy," John says pushing off his locker to stand in front of Sherlock.  
"Oh, don't tell me this little queer has gotten to you, Watson," Troy says with a sneer as he shoves his way past John to stand in front of Sherlock. "After all, all he wants to do is go down on you. Isn't that right, freak?"  
Sherlock clutches his books closer to his chest as he stares back at Troy.  
"So I see your parents have gotten that divorce after your father's affair with his secretary."  
Troy froze. "You fucking freak." He snarls under his breath before he shoves Sherlock into the lockers and grabs him by his jacket. Sherlock cannot hold in his small wine as Troy leans in.  
'Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's only the first day...'  
"You think you know everything don't you? Fucking homeschooled last year and skipped a grade. You think you're so far above everybody else, but you're not freak. Everybody else knows you're nothing but a pathetic little faggot wh-"  
Troy's words trail off as he is shoved off Sherlock and slammed into the lockers across from him. Sherlock opens his eyes and sees that John has Troy pinned against the lockers.  
"I said: Leave. Him. Alone. Do you understand that? Or are you too stupid?" John snarls with a cold furry.  
Troy stares up at him with wide eyes.  
"I u-u-understand," Troy stuttered.  
"Good. Because if I ever see, or hear, that you fucking laid a hand on him, there will be hell to pay. Now scram." John says as he throws Troy off to the side. Troy stumbles before running down the hall. Sherlock watches him run as he slowly lowers his shaking form to the floor and clutching his head in his hands. He curls his finger in his curls and tugs. He didn't notice he was crying until John spoke again.  
"Hey. Are you okay?"  
\------------------------------------------  
John doesn't know what came over him. All he knows is that when Troy shoved Sherlock against the lockers he saw red. He felt a fierce need to protect surge though his veins and the next thing he knew he had shoved the boy off Sherlock and into the lockers on the other wall. He spat his words out with venom and saw Troy take the stock of them.  
"Now scram," John says as he throws the boy away from him. He watches with a small smile as the boy stumbles before scurrying away from him. He turns to face Sherlock. The smile quickly fades from his face as he sees the boy has hidden himself behind his body: knees bent over his face and his hands pulling hard on his curls.  
"Hey. Are you okay?" John asks afraid he's the one who had frightened Sherlock.  
"....Why?"  
Startled, John sits down next to Sherlock who still has his head tucked away.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Why'd you protect me? Why did you pick my books up? Why are you talking to me? You must have heard what they say about me. I'm a freak. Useless," Sherlock mumbles through the tears John notices Sherlock ha begun trembling.  
" I don't like seeing people picked on. It's not right. As I said before, it's my fault you dropped your books so I was obliged to pick them up. I don't listen to the rumor mill, and you can't honestly think that about yourself-can you?" John asks sadly.  
Sherlock says nothing but lifts his head to gaze at John with tear-rimmed eyes. John cannot decipher what the celestial-eyed boy sees, but assumed it is good by the way Sherlock cracks a smile.  
"You're of them but not them."  
"Uh. What?"  
"You're apart of the school crowd but you don't think like them."  
"Thanks. I guess. Still don't know what you mean."  
"It means you're different."  
"And that's...?"  
"It's good."  
Sherlock's smile seems to make John lighter and he can't help but mirroring the other boy's smile.  
"Here. We should probably get off the floor," John says as he heaves himself up and reaches a hand down to Sherlock. Sherlock tentatively takes his offered hand and lets himself be pulled up.  
"Thanks."  
"Don't mention it." John says as he leans over to collect the books that had once again fallen. He is about to hand them to the curly-haired boy when a voice breaks through the corridor.  
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Answer your cellular!"  
John looks up to see a well-dressed man with auburn hair striding towards them.  
"Mycroft," Sherlock says with what John could have sworn was gratitude.  
The man- Mycroft- stops and stands next to Sherlock glaring at John like a hawk.  
"John, this is my brother Mycroft Holmes. My, this is John Watson."  
"How do you do?" John says as he holds his hand out to the older man.  
"I see my brother has taken to you, John," Mycroft says as he takes John's offered hand. "Do not let it be misplaced."  
John felt a chill go through him. 'One protective big brother, check.'  
"My, don't. John's not a goldfish," Sherlock says softly looking at his brother. The brothers share a look John cannot figure out. They must have had a conversation like this before because Mycroft nods before turning and saying, "I'll be in the car. Don't be long."  
John watches as he walks down the hall and out the doors before turning to Sherlock.  
"Sorry 'bout that," Sherlock says avoiding his gaze.  
"Don't be. I think it's great having a sibling who car-" John's voice falters as he notices the boy's wrist. The sleeves must have been pulled up during his incident with Troy. Along Sherlock's wrist is a mess of silver-white scars. Noticing his gaze Sherlock pulls his sleeves down muttering, "It's not important."  
"Sherlock-"  
"I have to go." Sherlock says while grabbing his books from John. John feels his heart leap in his throat at the rejection in the boy's eyes.  
"See you in first period then?" John asks lightly.  
Sherlock looks up sharply at John and searches his face again before smiling shyly.  
"First period," He says while nodding, before following his brother's exit.  
John smiles broadly as he hitches his back up on his shoulders before leaving the school. On his walk home, he thinks about Sherlock. His mind continually thinks back to the scars he seen on the boy's wrist.  
'Defiantly self harm marks. From bullying? Possibly. Apparently he was homeschooled all last year...could it have a correlation with his scars...' John shudders, not liking where his train of thought is going. He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the front door to his house.  
"Harry, I'm home!" He yells as he toes his shoes off. He is greeted with silence. 'At Clara's then.' John thinks solemnly. His hunch is confirmed by a note on the kitchen counter written in his sister's messy font. 'At Clara's. Cell phone is on. Leftovers are in the fridge. Be home late. Love you.'  
John sighs as he opens the fridge and pulls out last night's spaghetti. As he puts the bowl in the microwave, a small smile twitches at his lips. His mind had gone back to thinking of Sherlock. He can't wait for first period.


	4. Anxiety and The Three Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any and all typos! Work was recently deleted by accident and having to fix things on an iPhone is weird! Please feel free to comment and leave reviews!!

It was a bad day. He knew it when he woke up. Probably should have stayed home under the covers where nothing could get him. Mycroft was proud of him though for trying school again without breaking down. He has to try today. But now his hands are shaking and he can't open his locker and-oh god-his arms itch and his head is becoming crowded and, and...  
"Hey, you alright?" John asks looking at Sherlock oddly. Sherlock can't reply. He doesn't know what will happen if he does. And now he couldn't catch his breath-Interesting? Why was that? "Hey, Sherlock, calm down. Breath. I don't know what brought this on, but if you don't calm down-"  
"I am calm!" Sherlock replies through gritted teeth. He isn't, but John doesn't need to know that. John, whom he'd only met on Monday but yet hadn't avoided him or called him a freak. John who had protected Sherlock on the first day they met.  
"Give me those," John says grabbing the books clutched in Sherlock's hands. He sets them down along with his backpack and-when did that happen? It was on his back a moment ago? Wasn't it? John was saying something but he couldn't hear him, not over the voices in his head. One voice standing out clearer than the others and he wished, oh did he wish, he could drown it out. It would make everything so much easier.  
“… it. Come on, Sherlock. You can do it.”  
‘Do what?’

He looks to John for an answer. John had a hand placed on Sherlock’s shoulder and the other on his hip-when did John get in front of him? He seemed to be trying to get Sherlock to sit down. Slowly Sherlock feels himself slide down the lockers.

“That’s it. There you go. Do I need to call someone for you?” John asks, concern lacing his voice. Finally Sherlock finds his voice, even if he hasn't mastered breathing.  
“No...one..to..call” �Sherlock gasped.  
“Okay, okay that’s all right. Just breathe.” Sherlock finds himself pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He puts his head on his knees and breathes deep.

‘To think this was all caused by a broken beaker. It didn’t even have a thing in it.’He thinks to himself as he tries to control his breathing. He hasn't had an attack like this in quiet some time. He had forgotten how they felt. The panic pounding through his veins, the self-doubt clouding his mind accompanied by the voices and the uncontrollable shaking. He shudders and tries to take a deep breath.  
“Are you sure you’re okay, Sherlock?”John asks squatting down. “You look extremely pale-even for your standards-and you’re shaking. Do you-oi! You don’t have low blood sugar do you? I’m sure I have a dollar in my wallet. What do you usually get when it’s low?”  
‘Oh John,’ Sherlock thought, ‘if only I could explain’  
“Not blood sugar. Anxiety attack. Happens.”Sherlock manages to mumbles through his still quivering breaths.  
“Ah. Alright then,” John paused. “Are you sure there’s no one to call? Parents? Your brother?”  
Sherlock only shakes his head. “No parents. Mycroft has a meeting. Home alone.”

“Nothing for it then.” Then John does something unexpected. He sits next to him. Sherlock begins to lift his head from his lowered position to look at the boy beside him, but was stopped. 

“No, no, no, keep your head down and breathe.”

“Why are you being so…” Sherlock doesn’t have a word for the way John is acting. “So…like this?” he finishes gesturing to where the blonde boy sits not five inches from him.  
“Like what?”  
“So..nice? Why do you care about this so much?”  
John was silent for a moment; Sherlock feared he would get up and leave. After a moment, John states, “Because you’re my friend Sherlock. And I know that people suffering from sudden attacks need a constant by them or it will get worse.”  
“I’ve never had one before.”Sherlock says under his breath.  
“What?! An attack?”� John says sharply, worry lacing his every word.  
“No. I’ve had plently of those,” Sherlock replies more calm now that his breathing was regular again. He turns his head and looks at John. “A friend.”  
“You’ve never had a friend before? Ever?”  
“No. It didn’t even cross my mind that you would think we are. We only met this week.”  
“And in that week you knew my life story with a single glance, and have been the only person I’ve talked to in that class. Of course I consider you my friend.”  
Sherlock is at a loss for words for once. He had been his typical self all week. Intrusive. Rude. Guarded. Nothing that would earn him such kind treatment, much less a friend.  
“Anxiety gone?”� John asks seeing Sherlock’s chest rise and fall regularly.  
“Yeah. I believe it has for now.”  
“Wanna stand up?”  
Instead of answering, Sherlock silently rises to his feet and offers John his hand. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock mumbles.

“No need to thank me mate.”John says as he accepts the out stretched hand. “Shit, you’re bleeding!”he murmurs eyeing his arm.  
Sherlock looks down noticing the red seeping through his long sleeve shirt. 

“Arms itched. Must have unconsciously scratched and opened a healing wound.” Sherlock think out loud.  
“Here, let me take a look.” John says beginning to roll up Sherlock’s sleeve.  
“John! No! Don’t. It’s fine. Really.” Sherlock panics tugging his sleeve back down. John saw a bit of the scars that litters his wrist the first day but to see the whole extent-Sherlock can’t bear to show him. John would surely think him strange, then re-think being friends with him, and Sherlock-not ever considering having one before-can’t bear the thought of losing him.  
“Sherlock,” John speaks softly. “I’ve seen them. I won’t think differently of you. Please, show me.”  
Oh, but John will. He’ll see the fresh cuts on his wrist and turn away in disgust. But John isn’t releasing his arm. Reluctantly, he lets go of his sleeve, and allows John to pull it up.  
“You seemed to have opened up a few of the newer ones. Doesn’t look to bad. Need to clean and wrap it though to fight infection. Nothing I can’t do at home.”John says while rolling his sleeve back down.  
“At home?” Sherlock asks confused.  
“Yeah. Unless...you don’t want...” John says looking around unnerved.  
“No, no it’s fine. A bit unexpected but...”John seemed to understand what Sherlock can’t say and nods.  
“Well, come on then.”  
~  
It takes ten minutes to walk from school to Johns house. The entire way, John chatters. He talks about everything. Rugby. School. The quiz they have next Friday. Sherlock watches John as they walk and takes note of the way his hair turns gold in the light and how his eyes take a gleam when speaking about his rugby team. He feels butterfly’s stir in his stomach when John turns his blue eyes to his multi colored ones  
“What do you say, wanna come?” John asks excitedly.  
“Come? Come where? Uh, sorry. I zoned out for a second or so there.”Sherlock replies honestly.  
“That’s okay. You deserve some mind time to yourself after that fiasco. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go to one of my rugby games when season starts.”  
A game? A rugby game? Sherlock has never been to a game before. 

“Uh, when?” Sherlock asks unsure.

“First game if you want too. The season starts soon. I’ll let you know the schedule when I get it. Ah! Home sweet home!” John exclaims as they get to a little robin blue house in the suburbs of London. Sherlock watches him struggle with the lock and key before he unlocks the door. He enters and looks back at him. “You commin?”  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John observes as Sherlock tethers on the porch before he steps in. John turns to lock the door before turning back to Sherlock. The boy was visibly pale and still a bit shaken up. The blood on his wrist is starting to worry him. It doesn’t seem like the flow had slowed at all. “Come on.” John insisted before grabbing the curly haired boys hand and leading him to the living room. “You still look a bit pale which bothers me. How are you feeling?”He asks getting Sherlock to sit down on the couch.  
“A bit dizzy?” Sherlock answers after a moment. John notes that the boy’s eyes won’t focus and he’s swaying.  
“That’s that then. Stay seated. I’m going to get you some food and grab the medical supplies from the bathroom. Your wrist still seems to be bleeding.” John says as he strides from the couch. John walks into the kitchen then promptly begins making tea. It’s a habit John had picked up from his father. “Tea solve most of life’s problems, Johnny Boy.” his father’s voice rings in his head. While the water gets hot he prepares a plate of chocolate cookies and a bag of crisps. When he finishes he hears the distinct click of the water boiler going off, signaling the water was ready.  
“How do you like your tea?” John calls over his shoulder. His only answer is a muffled thumping sound. “SHIT!” John cries. He leaves the empty cups he had been retrieving to rush back to the living room. His eyes grow wide and his heart races at what he sees-Sherlock lying face down on the carpet. He seemed to not have the strength to raise himself back up.  
“Fuck. Hey come on, let’s get you back up.” John mumbles more to himself to then to Sherlock as he kneels down next to Sherlock lifting his shoulders gently.  
“ ‘fell ‘croft. Nothing to worry-to worry ‘bout.” the limp brunet mumbles incoherently in Johns arms.  
“Not Mycroft, Sherlock.” John replies worried. Disorientation is never a good sign in any situation.  
“mhmmm, John?” Sherlock asks blinking up as John leans him against the couch.  
John breathes a sigh of relief. The confusion seemed to be clearing from the boys eyes as he gets situated.  
“Yeah, I’ve got you. You were feeling dizzy on the couch and you fell.”He stands up and walks quickly to the kitchen, bypassing the tea opting to get a water bottle from the fridge and the plate of snacks. He enters the living room to find Sherlock picking at his bleeding wrist. 

“Stop that!”John scolds as he sits next to him. John opens the water and hands it to the crystal eyed boy. “Drink.” He commands as Sherlock takes the bottle in a shaking hand.  
“Thanks.” he mumbles quietly before hesitantly taking a sip.  
“Keep drinking-oh! There’s snacks too. I want you to eat. I’m going to get the med kit and clean your wrists.” He says as he stands up. Sherlock only nods.

Once John reaches the bathroom, he takes a moment to splash water on his face before gathering the small kit he keeps stocked. He returns to Sherlock and finds three cookies gone.

“How’d you know chocolate was my favorite?”Sherlock mumbles as he stuffs another in his mouth.  
“I didn’t. It was all we had in the kitchen," John says as he watches Sherlock eat two more cookies like a starving man. A thought strikes him, and fearful of the answer, John finds himself asking: "When was the last you ate?" 

Sherlock takes a gulp of water and looks up at John. "What day is it?" He asks after a pause.

"Friday."

Sherlock nods. "Last Saturday. My brother made me eat dinner." He answers. 

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock! That was almost a week ago!"

"I've gone longer, John. It's not a problem."

"Sherlock. It's a very serious problem. You need to eat!"  
"Why?"

"Why? Jesus-you know what. I can't talk about this right now. This conversation is on hold for another time. Give me your wrist."

Sherlock complies after stealing another cookie from the plate. John laughs, clipping it short as he takes the offered wrist. He takes an alcohol pad from the bag and swipes up and down his arm cleaning up the dried blood. 

"It doesn't look too bad. Just opened the scabs. You worried me; that was a lot of blood. Thought you nicked a vein." Sherlock remains quiet as John wraps his wrist in gauze. "Keep that on overnight." 

"I was trying too." Sherlock mumbles.

"What?" 

Sherlock looks up and meets his gaze. "To nick the vein. I was trying. I-" he looks down at his wrist. "My brother found me that night and...stopped me before I could."  
John sits there in a stunned silence. He didn't expect Sherlock to share such intimate details if his life. Before he realizes what he's doing he finds himself pulling Sherlock into a hug. 

"John! What-" Sherlock's startled words are cut off by John.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock."

"...Why..."

" I don't know what's happened in your life, but to see how it's affected you. God whatever hell you've been through to make you-I'm so sorry, Sherlock." John says suppressing a sob as he grabs the boy's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. The eyes that meet his shift in color and he finds that he can't look away.

"It wasn't your fault though..."Sherlock says.

"And I can bet it wasn't yours either."

"Why are you so different?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Most people would be trying to fix me. Say that I'm broken; that I need to be fixed. But you..."

John cuts Sherlock's thoughts off again, "You're not broken, Sherlock. You don't need to be fixed. Whoever told you that is a fucking idiot."

Sherlock laughs. A dry hollow sound in the room. "Tell that to the doctor who put me on anti-depressants."

It's now John's turn to laugh. A loud hearty sound that breaks the tension between them. "God, I'm sorry I shouldn't be laughing. This isn't funny but-just imagine the doctor's face if I were to actually..." He breaks off his sentence to continue laughing.

"No it's-" Sherlock's phone cuts off anything he was going to say as it beeps with a message:

'Meeting taking longer than expected. See you found a friend in that Watson fellow. Won't be home tonight. Might find it smart to stay the night-I don't want you home alone.-MH'

"Who was that?"

"My brother." Sherlock replies,  
showing John the text.

"Well I find it creepy that your brother knows that you're here, but I don't mind you staying the night. Harry's at her girlfriend's and my parents are out traveling, it will just be us. I'm sure I have some extra blankets..." John stops and looks up at Sherlock. "If it's cool with you,that is."

"I don't seem to have a choice in the matter between you an my brother." Sherlock says with a smirk. John feels his heart skip a beat as he looks at the curly-haired boy. 

'God he's beautiful...' John shakes the thought from his head. No time for that.  
"Well then, it's decided." He says standing.

"Two firsts in a day. A friend and a sleepover." Sherlock muses.

John laughs again and turns to start looking for the spare blankets. He's stopped by Sherlock calling his name. "John?"

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to ask, who's Bond?" Sherlock asks a he points to John's collection of "James Bond" movies.

"Three firsts. I'm introducing you to James Bond tonight." John can only laugh at Sherlocks confused look.


	5. Bond, Bath, and EggRolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off! Hi lovelies! I am so glad you are enjoying the story so far!! I have a few things to say before this chapter though, first off I’m changing up the way I separate view points. Since this scene does not occur in school and has the characters together in most scenes, not all scenes will be reflected in switching views! I am also writing of my phone so bear with me!  
> Secondly, this chapter is incredibly long, and dark! It has two flashbacks in it as well, so please be warned: if you are triggered by scences of self harm or child abuse, please proceed with caution! 
> 
> I am deeply in love with the story I have planned! It’s been a work in progress for a few years now. Like always don’t be afraid to leave a comment at the end letting me know what you think!

‘James Bond is an exceptionally predictable man.’ I thought as the movie played on the television in Johns quaint living room. I sat crossed legged on the couch with a plate of chocolate cookies John just so happened to be bringing out with every trip to the kitchen. Sherlock took a glance at John to see that the man was fully engrossed in the film, seeming to know every word to every line in the script.  
“Was that not the best movie you’ve ever watched?” John exclaimed, searching for the remote as the credits began to roll.  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment. He actually found the movie quiet bland and predictable. But, seeing Johns excitement he couldn’t quiet say that to his new...friend. He’d have to get used to thinking that word.  
“Well?!” John questioned again.  
Sherlock blinked not realizing he had zoned out again.  
“It was...interesting to say the least. Got a lot of the facts about MI6 wrong, but of course a movie that is going to be seen world wide has to leave out some of the details I suppose.” Sherlock answered.  
“So you didn’t like it?”  
“Never said that John, I in fact quiet liked Q.”  
“Could have guessed that one.” John said with a laugh, heaving himself off the couch and walking towards the kitchen.  
Sherlock followed.  
“What do you fancy for dinner, Sherlock?”  
“Oh John, really I’m full you don’t need too-“ he was cut off from his excuse by John holding up a finger.  
“Plates of cookies on a couch do not substitute as dinner Sherlock. You haven’t eaten in a week, and even if I have to stuff it down your throat, I will get you to eat something.”  
Sherlock stared at the man in front of him. Once again in the short time between them meeting, John had surprised Sherlock. For all his stature John Watson had a quiet strength about him;must be what made him captain of the Rugby team.  
“Fine. Since you, like my brother are so determined to get “meat on my bones” “, he raised his fingers to indicate the quoting, “Chinese food sounds nice.” He finished, lowering his hands back down.  
“Then Chinese it will be.” John said turning around to grab the phone.  
“Oi, Sherlock,” John stared again grabbing the larger mans attention. “If you’d like to wash up, showers on the second floor, second door to the left. Should be a towel in the upper cabi-Oh, yes hello? 813 Chinese...”  
Johns voice trailed off as Sherlock nodded his acknowledgment and headed up stairs.  
‘Yes a shower would do me good. I can wash all the blood of my arm and...collect my thoughts.’ He hadn’t had time between the attack and fainting to think over what had happened to him, and what had caused it. He shivered. As much as he didn’t want too, he knew he’d have to go back to the night. If only too find the cause. Back to the night Mycroft found him in the tub delirious from blood loss...  
Sherlock slammed his hands to his head as soon as he was safely inside the locked bathroom, and prayed himself to not go there, not yet. He staggered on his feet towards the shower, and turned the water on full blast to drown out any noise he may make, sat under the faucet head finally allowing him self to go back to that night, a week before school.  
...........…........................................................

It was a normal summer Saturday night in the Holmes household, and Sherlock sat at his bedroom table, spine bent. In front of him, sat a beaker a few drops full of nitric acid. He closed his book with a loud thumping sound, quickly stood up and strode over to a cabinet across his bedroom. The cabinet was filled with many scientific artifacts, chemistry books, and supplies. He scanned the shelves and with a slight “aha!” sound, grabbed a vile of hydrazine and a clean dropper and walked back to his desk.  
“If my calculations are correct, a few drops of hydrazine should be able to mix properly without to much of a reaction.” The lanky boy muttered to himself as he collected the droplets into the beaker.  
A few moments passed and the boy smiled, deeming his scientific endeavor a successful one. He turned to grab his notebook when he heard it, the slight crack of breaking glass. He barley had time to react before the beaker exploded on his desk, spewing glass and chemicals all over the floor. Sherlock sat on his floor, having being put of balance, eyes wide with shock and terror.  
‘But, my calculations where nothing but perfect! Nothing wrong should have occurred! I double-no triple- checked all my work.’ Sherlock’s mind raced as he pushed himself to his feet. Mycrofts meeting had him running late again, and for once he was thankful of his brother not being here.  
“SHIT” Sherlock yelled. He punched the wall in front of his desk and stared down at his mess of a table. He ignored the trembling in his hand and filled his thoughts with cleaning the mess, to block out other things he’d rather not think about.  
He sprinted down the stairs, to the wash room and grabbed the cleaning supplies. On his way back up the stairs, he was halted to a stop. His hands shook with the intensity of a storm as the barriers in his mind where broken down and thoughts of Father invaded.  
“WILLIAM YOU BETTER NOT BE IN MY STUDY!” The bitter memory of his father was like a gut punch, and he shook his head to clear the fog of his mind.  
‘Fuck, no, no, no’ he cried in his mind, increasing his pace up the stairs and slamming his way into his room. He quickly cleaned his room in hopes to calm his mind. His work was to no avail, and he found him self sinking to his knees on his now clean floor, fingers clinched in his hair, as memory’s he’d rather delete-but could never seem too-bombarded him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“WILLIAM!” His father screamed again, his voice a booming thunder. His feet, like hammers down the hallway.  
Sherlock scurried to find a way to clean his mess, his year two mind scrambling. But he was too late. He felt the unkind hands of his father grab him by his nape, and slam him into the wall.  
“What have I told you about being in my study boy?”  
His fathers question hit his ears like acid.  
Sherlock whimpered, fear bubbling in his chest and tears clouding his eyes.  
“ANSWER ME!” His father screamed.  
“Y...you...told me not to..”  
“Looks like your not so fucking stupid after all.” His father spit, hands tightening on the small boys neck. “But yet, here you are. Like clockwork, another one of my beakers broken. You know what this means, don’t you?” He asked menacingly.  
Sherlock only nodded, letting the tears freely fall now.  
“Fucking cry baby.” His father laughed, as he forcefully tore Sherlock from the wall and slammed his hands and knees into the broken class littered on the floor.  
“Your nothing but a goddamn freak, you know that? I wanted you fucking aborted as soon as your Mother found out, but heavens to Betsy she had a fit about that. So here you are. Long limbs and curly haired, barley able to speak beyond stuttering, and being a goddamn pain in my side,” His belt dinged as the buckle hit the floor, and he folded it once upon itself.  
“You’ve earned this, boy.”  
Sherlock stilled his body for the hit he knew was coming, and let the stream of tears flow as he babbled our pleas of “I’m sorry!” and “Please!” Knowing they would go ignored.  
The belt hit him like steel, and pushed his hands and knees farther into the glass. He tried to count the blows, but was finding it harder to do as pain clouded his thoughts.  
“Good for nothing freak. You even scare your nannies! No wonder no one in school wants to be friends with a stuttering idiot like you.” His father taunted.  
He heard his fathers hand go up for another swing, at the same time he heard the study doors open.  
“FATHER STOP!” Mycroft yelled, sprinting across the room to stand between his younger brother, and the oldest Holmes.  
“When are you gonna stop protecting this queer, Butterball?” His father jeered, as he let his hands fall to his side. “You won’t always be here to protect him, ya know?”He whispered, as he began to re align his belt.  
“If I have any say in it, I will.” his brother said defiantly, staring dead straight into eyes that so matched his own. Oh how he hated the resemblance he had with his father.  
His father only bellowed a laugh in return, and turned out of the room with an echoing “Good luck with that.” before slamming the manor doors behind him.  
Sherlock winced at the sound, which jolted his brother into action. Sliding to his knees besides his young brother he began to speak.  
“Sherl, will you open your eyes for me, there’s a good lad. Come on now, off your hands-oh there you go, gently!” He cooed towards his brother, his hand a steady anchor on the younger ones back.  
“My,”Sherlock rasped, looking up at his brother with eyes bloodshot from tears. “Is what father said true? Am-a-a-am I a f-f-fr-freak?” He stammered.  
“Oh Sherlock, no.” Mycroft cried, collecting his trembling frame into his arms. “No, don’t let fathers words get to you.” He cooed as Sherlock sobbed into his jumper. “Come now,” He said looking at the bloody mess of Sherlocks knees not minding the blood seeping into his jummper. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah? Maybe play Pirates before bed?” Getting no response from the trembling mess in his arms, he stood up, and proceeded to walk up the stairs humming a lullaby to try and soothe the ache in the young boys heart.  
...........……........................................................  
But oh, how Mycroft was wrong. He was a freak. He rocked on the floor as the summer breeze blew through the window of his room. 

“Freak, queer, sociopath...”he rambled to himself as his hands pounded his skull trying to quiet the storm inside. He had not thought of that specific memory in months and his knees ached with memory of the pain.

‘Make it go away, gotta make it go away, make it quiet again’ his mind continued to ramble as he shakily got to his feet. He walked to his bed and without thinking flipped over his pillow and grabbed the scalpel hidden there.  
‘Quick, clean, smooth.’ His mind thought as he traced his finger over the blade.  
Like a zombie, he headed to the bathroom and laid down in the tub. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Scars littered the paleness of his forearm greeting him like an old friend. He smiled, and brought the blade up to his wrist.  
He sighed as the blade cut into his skin, rivulets of crimson staining porcelain. Again and again the blade went down across his arm, before he stopped to look at his work. He blinked slowly, and stared at the blue vein in the center of his wrist. He brought the blade up lengthwise against the pounding blue vein, and pushed deep, pulling down.  
He gasped as pain flooded his body, making him drop the scalpel on the bloody bathtub tile. He keened as he looked at his arm, blackness edging in the corners of his vision. He could no longer see the paleness of his skin. All he saw was the beautiful waterfall of crimson.  
“SHERLOCK!” A voice cried out.  
He weakly turned towards the sound, and could make out the outline of his brother, before the darkness enveloped him.  
………………………….............................................  
He was startled out of his thought by a blast of cold water to his skin. Blinking he found himself sitting on the tile of an unfamiliar shower.  
‘Ah, yes. Johns place.’ He thought slowly, still clearing his head of fog. He heard a banging on the door.  
“Oi! Sherlock? Mate you okay!? Been over an hour, foods getting cold? I’m coming in, sorry, but I’m fearing the worst here...” Johns voice trailed off as he entered the bathroom, eyes locking onto the scene in front of him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John hung up the phone, and sighed. He ran his hands over his face and looked at the kitchen clock. The digital numbers gleamed back at it him, the neon lights telling him it was nearly eight o’clock. He heard the water turn on and smiled.  
‘Who knows when the last time he showered was. Bugger barley reminds himself to eat.’  
“Well John, what are you planning here?” He questioned out loud.  
He had no answer. He didn’t know what compelled him to bring Sherlock home with him. He was right when he had said they barley knew each other, and here John had them acting like mates around the telly. But he couldn’t help it. He was drawn to Sherlock, more beyond the sable curls, something deeper attracted him.  
“Maybe...maybe we can play ice breaker games, get to know each other better. He seems like a nice bloke, seems to need a friend too.” he muttered to himself as he made tea.  
Thirty minutes came and went and John answered the knock of the door, gathering the food and setting out plates around the styrofoam boxes. His mouth watered as he got a whiff of the egg rolls.  
Another thirty minutes passed, and John was getting worried. He could still hear the water running, but heard no sounds of movement. He scratched his eyebrow.  
‘Maybe...I should go and check up on him?’ His mind questioned.  
‘Yeah. Right.’ He answered himself. He had spent too many nights alone.  
He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the door. No response. He knocked louder and cleared his throat. Still, no answer came from the other side. Getting worried he banged on the door and called out.  
“Oi! Sherlock? Mate you okay!? Been over an hour, foods getting cold? I’m coming in, sorry, but I’m fearing the worst here.” he entered the bathroom timidly and froze in his tracks.  
In front of him, Sherlock sat with his knees drawn to his chest, arms locked in front. Green eyes peered out at him from a dark forest.  
But that’s not what caught his attention. No. What made him stop cold in his tracks and sent ice through his veins was how he was able to count every rib on his body. Spinal notches visible through thin skin, the stark whiteness only disturbed by what seemed like cigarette burns.  
He was going to be sick.  
He looked away from the body in front of him, toward the shower tile, and saw it had little rivers of blood flowing towards the drain.  
“M’sorry, John. I can leave if you want. You,”� Sherlock gulped. “can forget we ever met. And we can go back to being-“  
“Hush.” John cut off. His voice barley a whisper. “Just...hush. Dry off and come down stairs. Like I said, food is getting cold. Didn’t know what you’d, uh, like. I ordered beef and broccoli and we each have an egg roll. So, uh yeah. Just dry off then.” He stammered shutting the door to the bath.  
He sank down against the door and let what he saw sink in.  
‘What life has this boy lived? What tortures has he endured. Child abuse! That’s bloody fucking child abuse!’ His brain screamed as he collected him self off the floor.  
He walked down to the kitchen and sat down at a chair. Sherlock followed not five minutes later, still damp. He sat down and faced John, hands folded under his chin. 

“I’m aware that you have questions, John.  
And I hope in due time to answer them all.” He shifted his gaze from Johns eyes, and continued. “You seem to be a reasonably smart man and have put two and two together. All I want to say, John, is that my Father is a cruel and spiteful person, and I hope you are never unlucky enough to cross paths with him.”  
Silence echoed between them for a moment, before John nodded. Seemed that was all he was gonna get out of Sherlock tonight, and he’d rather not pry. He’d tell John when he was ready, or never, and he was okay with either. He opened the styrofoam box in front of him.  
“Egg roll?” He offered.  
“Starving, hope you got soy sauce.” Sherlock replied taking the offered food and biting into it.  
John smiled.  
‘At least he’s eating.’ he thought as he threw a soy packet at Sherlock, and took a bite of his own roll.


	6. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!! This chapter is sort of a filler, but I feel it’s important. I just spent the last hour or so storyboarding and setting up characters-those introduced and those not yet- so I feel this chapter is a good set up for the coming storyline. This chapter also took me a while to get started writing. I never thought people would actually want to read what's in my head.   
> I’m trying to keep the characters as canon as possible while still putting my own twist on them, which means I have a lot of research written in a notebook for my fiancé to find and think me crazy for XD  
> Anyway dolls! Please enjoy this chapter, and like always feel free to comment or leave a kudo!!

Sherlock was quiet as he laid on the pull out bed in Johns room, collecting and filtering all the data he could about his new found friend. The glow stars on the ceiling, obviously left from when he was a child, were scattered without a pattern or care and spoke of childhood curiosity. The bookshelf to the side next to the window was littered with trophies and family photos. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. For once, he didn’t want to automatically know all about someone. He wanted to learn about John, from John. It was strange to not want to know everything at once, and Sherlock felt a grin tug at his lips at the thought of being normal for once.  
“…so yeah sorry I don’t have much else in terms of blankets and pillows, but I hope this will do.” Johns' voice broke Sherlock out of his thoughts.   
“What was that?” He questioned, eyeing the bright pink blanket and grey pillow the blonde was holding.  
“I said, I’m sorry I don’t have much else in terms of blankets and pillows. These are some of Harry’s old sheets. Seem to still be good though. Mom washed them before they went to the closet so,” he threw the bedding at Sherlock. “Hope it will do.”  
Sherlock caught the bedding and looked down at it. The bright pink was almost blinding. He had always liked the color pink. “It’s...good John. Thank you.” He replies with a smile.   
John sucked in a breath and looked down. “Eh...yeah so,” he looked around and Sherlock noticed a slight blush on his cheeks. That was odd. ‘Must collect more data’ he quickly thought before John continued.  
“I was thinking as I was washing up that we still don’t know all that much about each other. I mean I had you deduce me, but that only gave you basic info. If you want we can play Questions, break the ice a little bit.” John continues as he walks across the room to sit on his bed.   
Sherlock sits up and looks at John for a moment.  
“You want to get to know me?” He states, more a question to himself than anyone else.  
“I mean,” John scratches the back of his neck, and Sherlock can’t help but notice his shirt rise up just a bit exposing the light abs on his stomach. “Well yeah. That’s what friends do right? They learn about each other.”  
“I really wouldn’t know John.” Sherlock answered laying back down to stare at the scattering stars again. He pulled the covers around him, before continuing. “You are, like I said my first friend if you don’t count my brother. It does sound interesting though.”  
“Okay, well good. So how I was thinking it would go would be one of us asks a question one answers and then you have to answer your own question. What do you think”  
“It makes it to where you can’t ask a question you don’t want to share, smart, I like it. Shall you start or I?”  
“I’ll start,” John answered, moving to lay on his side, head held up by his hand. “What is your full name?”  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” Sherlock replied, not looking at John. He had to admit this game was a little nerve-wracking. He didn’t know what questions John was going to ask him, or if the blonde would respond well to what he had to say.  
“John Hamish Watson.” John replied cheerfully.  
“What’s your age?”  
“Eighteen.”  
“Sixteen.”  
“Sixteen!?” John exclaimed. “That makes you the youngest in our year!”  
“Well, I did skip a year, John.” He reminded him.  
“That’s right, forgot about that.” John replied thoughtfully. “What’s your sexuality?”  
Sherlock froze.   
“John, before I answer I need to know something,” Sherlock said before he lost his nerve.  
“Yeah, ‘course whats up?”  
“You’re sure your current opinion of me won’t change if I answer honestly?”  
Silence filled the room for a moment and he was terrified he’d asked the wrong question.  
“Sherlock, I promise my opinion won’t change. I just,” John shifted, “just want to get to know you.” He finished.   
Sherlock felt a wave of relief flush through him. John wasn’t going to judge him, or think him weird. He could get used to having a friend.  
“Thank you.” He replied. “I’m gay.” Sherlock answered not looking at John.  
“Bi.” John answered calmly.  
Sherlock's head snapped up. That was surprising. He had thought John would be straight, maybe even a bit of a womanizer. “That’s...” Sherlock started.  
John cut him off.   
“Surprising? Hard to wrap your head around? Yeah, I get it. I only discovered it recently my self. Only a few mates on the team know. And Mike Stamford of course.”  
“How’d you,” Sherlock clears his throat. “How’d you find out?”  
“How’d you find out you’re gay?”  
“I just never had any interest in women. Had my first crush on a boy when I was five. Mycroft had to explain it to me.”  
“Bet that was awkward.”  
“Only a bit, more for him than anything. I asked a lot of questions. But you, how’d you find out?” Sherlock asked curiosity littered in his words.  
John scratched the back of his head. “I...experimented over the summer when I wasn’t watching movies. Realized I didn’t quite care who I was with as long as I liked them.” John answered blushing slightly.  
“Oh. Interesting.” Sherlock mused for a second. “I’ve never been with anybody.”  
“Really? No one, not even a kiss?”  
“Noooopppe.” Sherlock replied drawling out the o in his deep baritone. “Enough about that topic for now though. I believe it’s my question, what are your hobbies?”  
John shook his head with a grin before replying.  
“Well, I guess rugby could be considered a hobby of mine. It's relaxing, the physicality of it all. Great way to let off steam.” John paused, and Sherlock looked up to see him smiling and staring off in the distance. “ I also like to study and read up on medical discoveries and techniques.” He continued, pointing to the books on his self. “Those medical books were given to me by my grandfather last Christmas. They are the most up to date books he could find on medical practices and techniques. It’s fascinating, Sherlock. The way the body works, the way it can heal itself. It’s just-ugh I can't explain it. It’s just amazing.”   
“The human body is quite an amazing thing isn’t it?” Sherlock spoke softly looking down at his own body. He’d only ever thought of his as a vessel, not something to think more about. But the way John spoke with such enthusiasm made him want to learn more.  
“Movies I guess would be another hobby of mine.” John said, seeming to not have heard the younger boy. “I watched the entire collection of Bond films over the summer, spent half the time analyzing the filming techniques. I guess that’s about all I’m really interested in though.” John finished, finally looking at Sherlock.   
“I enjoy reading. I have quite a collection of books at home ranging from Dickens to Rolling. Classics are my favorite though, especially “Frankenstein”. That’s a favorite of mine.”  
“I’ve never read it.” John answered back.  
“It’s...it’s quite a beautiful story. The movies, of course, got it all wrong. But then again they always do.” He answered with a slight chuckle. Above him, he heard John laugh along with him.  
“I guess playing my violin could also be considered a hobby.” He chimed. “You should see it, John. Vintage, German-made circa 1880. Made from well-flamed maple with a fine belly grain, varnished in orangey brown. It’s beautiful.” He paused. “It was my mother’s. It got passed down to me.” He finished his thought quietly.  
“It sounds beautiful. I’d love to hear you play one day.”  
“Oh, you will John. I’m sure you will, at least. When I’m home it’s never far from me, it helps me think.”  
“I can’t wait.”  
“Science. If you can consider that a hobby. I like experimenting, seeing and figuring out how things work. Science is concrete. It always makes sense, always has a reason.”  
“Could never get into science my self. And before you say anything-yes I do understand medicine falls under science. I could just never get into chemistry and” John flapped the hand not currently supporting his head around. “All that.” He finished, his hand returning to his side.  
“I will admit it’s not for everyone.”  
“You can say that again.”  
“I will admit it’s not for everyone.” Sherlock repeated, only to be bombarded by a pillow to the face.  
“Cheeky git.” John said with a laugh.  
“Well, you did say to say it again.” Sherlock replies grinning and moving the pillow under his head. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”   
“Are you religious?”  
“Not really. I identify as agnostic.” Sherlock replied, stretching.  
“I was raised Christian myself, but I’m always open to explore and view other religions.”  
“Glad to see you aren’t closed minded. What do you do when bored?”  
“I play video games or watch movies, as simple as the sounds.”  
“I conduct experiments. Keep all the successful ones written down in a notebook. I also compose music on my violin. No finished pieces to date, but I’m working slowly.”  
“Wait. Hold on a moment. You compose your own violin music?”  
“Well, yes I just said that didn’t I?” Sherlock replied, turning to look at John with a puzzled expression.   
Then he could have sworn his heart stopped.   
John had a look of such beautiful awe on his face.  
“How!! How do you compose?” John questioned.  
“It’s...it’s simple music theory.” He explained, still looking at John. “Once you understand the way music works, the way notes are meant to be played, putting them together is all up to the imagination. The possibilities are endless.” He finished.   
“The only instrument I ever learned was the clarinet in grade school.” John chuckled. “Not much of music theory there.”  
“I can teach you if you want.” Sherlock replied sincerely.  
“Maybe one day.”  
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Both just laying, looking at everything and nothing all at once. Sherlock snuggled into the covers, getting comfortable.  
“Sherlock?” John’s voice had turned a bit serious and startled Sherlock sat up.  
“Yes? What’s wrong? Did I do something?” He asked, panic rising slowly in him. Had he done something on accident to make John uncomfortable.  
“You didn’t do anything Sherlock, I just-“ he paused sighing before he locked eyes with the brunette. “Look you don’t have to answer but I want to know more about your family.”  
Sherlock looked down, his blood turning to ice.   
“John, I...it’s...”  
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want-“  
“It’s complicated...I don’t mind. But...would you be okay with just the basics right now?” Sherlock finished, looking back up at John.  
The older boy only nodded.  
Sherlock swallowed the lump that was suddenly in his throat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and laid his head on his knees.   
‘Protection pose.’ His brain told him. He shook it out of his head.  
“My mother died when I was 7. She was...beautiful. Smart. I got my love of music and science from her. My father.” He shuddered. “My father is a government official. And a spiteful, hateful monster of a man.” He tightened his hands around his wrists, feeling his nails dig into skin. “He lies and cheats to get what he wants. And if that doesn’t work...he finds other ways of rising to power.” He was quiet for a moment. “My brother Mycroft is seven years older than me, and gained full custody of me from our father when he was eighteen, five years ago now actually.” He said thoughtfully. “He, like our father also works in the government. But in a different branch. Where our father makes tabloids and laws, Mycroft is practically the British government. Eurus, my sister, is one year younger than me.” He paused and turned from John to stare at the wall. “She went away a while ago. Mycroft won’t tell me where or why she left. Just tells me it’s for her betterment.” He scoffed. He turned to look at John. He had a look of-not quiet shock but close.  
“I told you, it’s a lot.”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” He replied running his hand across his face. “Well, I don’t think I can top your family.”   
“Is your family not filled with government officials?” Sherlock mocked. “I thought it was normal.” He finished aiming for a joke.  
John grinned, seeming to appreciate the gesture.   
“Nah mate, seems your the lucky one.”  
“Damn.” He said laughing.  
John laughed with him. A beautiful and comforting sound, like rain hitting the window.  
“Well,” John said still chuckling slightly. “My mom and dad travel a lot, as you already deduced. My dads a journalist and my mother is a reporter. They travel with some news company. They come home once or twice every two months or so to check up on Harry and I. Harry is five years older than me and is often at her girlfriend's house-when they aren’t fighting- if she’s not at a bar.” He finished, furrowing his brows. “I hate her drinking problem, but who am I but her younger brother. What do I know” he spat.  
“I’m sure in time she’ll come around.” Sherlock replied trying to comfort the older boy.  
“Two rehab trips and twice as many relapses says otherwise,” John replied sighing. “But it’s still something to hope for.” He smiled at Sherlock as he finished.  
Sherlock’s heart sped up. ‘Damn it. Not now.’ He said scolding himself for blushing.  
“Whatsyourfavoriteseason.” He sputtered trying to hide his nervousness.  
“What?”   
He took a deep breath, before stating again.  
“What’s your favorite season?”  
“Hmm...” John thought with a yawn. “I like Summer. The city just seems...so alive during summer.”  
Sherlock yawned as well, and laid back down closing his eyes. “ I like Winter. Everything is quiet. The city always seems to be asleep. Plus,”- He stifled another yawn as his eyes closed. “Snow angels are quite fun to make.”  
“Yeah, they aren’t they?” He heard John reply. It sounded muffled, as if it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. ‘Weird. He’s sitting right next to me.’ He thought sleepily. He had no time to ponder the thought. Sleep overtook him like a tidal wave and he felt himself succumb and relax into the bed before he remembered nothing at all.  
.......…………………..............................................

John couldn’t help the smile that made its way across his face as he heard the slight snoring from the boy below him. It had been a long day and he was glad to see him finally get some rest. John moved so he was laying on his back. He sighed deeply. What a day it had been. In all his exhaustion he had nearly forgotten the reason he had brought Sherlock to his house.  
He looked down at his hands. The same hands that had cleaned... he gulped...that had cleaned Sherlock’s suicide attempt wound.  
‘Better now than never to think about what you saw. What you heard.’ He thought somberly. His mind traveled back to what he saw in the bathroom. Sherlock, knees to his chest, eyes blown wide with fear at some unknown scene in his head.   
‘Not unknown, just not talked about’ he reminded himself sadly.   
Somehow, he knew Sherlock had been brought back to a childhood trauma. Child abuse, it had to be from the way he spoke of his father.   
John felt a ball of rage fill his stomach for a man he hadn’t even met. He had to be the same reason the lanky boy's body was covered in cigarette burns, the reason he didn’t eat, the reason John could tell his clavicle, arm, wrist, and two ribs had been broken.  
‘How’d his mother die...’ he thought. He quickly pushed away the thoughts flooding his mind on that subject.   
He sighed loudly, and heard Sherlock shift and mumble incoherently beneath him.  
“That’s...not where the beakers go you damn cat.” The curly haired boy mumbled.  
John held his laugh behind his hands. He’d never take Sherlock as a sleep talker. But it was cute.   
He closed his eyes and pulled the covers over him as another yawn overtook him. Tomorrow was Saturday. He’d think more later.  
‘Right now. It’s time for sleep.’ He thought as he rolled on to his belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter was a little late getting out to you guys! I hope it was at least worth it. I meant to have it up yesterday but life and work got busy. Should I write more in Johns perspective?? As always please leave your comments and kudos down below! I love hearing what you have to say! Love you all!


	7. Update

Hey loves! Just a small update to let you know what is going on! I’ve been struggling with things in my life for the last few weeks and have been trying to take care of it all. I haven’t abandoned this story at all so don’t worry! I hope to write the next chapter soon once my life isn’t so hectic. Love you all. Hope to post soon


	8. Writers Block

Hey guys. This work is not abandoned. Depression and writer's block sucks. I am working on a new chapter, it’s just happening slowly as I figure out how to get to the main plotline of this story. Thanks for sticking in. Feel free to comment if you have anything you’d be interested in reading! Love you!


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